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[Ross' base]

Norman Osborn's body slumped onto the cold metallic floor of the armory storage with a heavy thud. The air smelled thick with oil, gunpowder, and sterilized metal. He groaned, clutching his chest as it burned. His veins glowed faintly green, pulsating with the sickly light of the serum coursing through his blood, warring with his body and mind. He was pushing himself up to his knees, gasping for air, his body in violent tremors.

"What. ...

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